


take this lonely heart (i don't need it no more)

by lqbys



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Making Out, The author keeps bringing shame to her family, Toxic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-08-14 04:46:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16486163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lqbys/pseuds/lqbys
Summary: This shouldn’t happen. This isn’t supposed to happen—Chae Hyungwon shouldn’t be here, arms wrapped around Hoseok, chin nestled on top of his head. At home. Belonging. Changkyun shouldn’t feel so fucking bad watching them have what he'll never have.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday farah i luv u here have emo ck

“He’s cheating on you.” 

Changkyun doesn’t even flinch. He keeps his gaze fixed on the ashtray, his thumb running over one of his eyebrows. He is well-aware, of Hoseok’s habits, of Hoseok’s ways to spend time when he’s not around. He’s cheating on you doesn’t sound half as bad as it should, and some part of him wonders why Jooheon would even bring the matter up. 

“That’s not the problem,” he replies, voice flat. 

Jooheon’s nostrils flare as he clicks his tongue. Of course it is, his eyes seem to scream, but what he thinks he knows about them, about Hoseok and Changkyun’s respective, fucked-up role in all of this isn’t remotely close to half of the story. Hoseok isn’t cheating on him. Hoseok can’t be cheating on him when their relationship is limited to fucking in strange places and popping pills together. Changkyun can count in one hand the number of times they did anything else.

He says, looking at his friend sideways, “I was fucking Haseul last night,” then glances down at his half-empty glass of beer again, not waiting for an answer.

“You damn well should, you have every right to--”

“It’s the same fucking thing,” Changkyun snaps, louder than he wanted.

The bar falls quiet, for two long seconds, before discussion chirps again all around and people forget about the two of them.

Changkyun exhales, heavy, full of smoke he’s kept in his lungs until now. 

They fuck each other when it’s convenient and fuck others when things fall apart. It is a stupid thing to do, because things are always falling apart wherever Hoseok decides to walk next. Hoseok is a hurricane waiting to happen, Hoseok is made of divine but thrives off broken things, Hoseok is everything Changkyun isn’t and their story was never meant to happen.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Jooheon clenching his fists, lips pursed and eyes set ablaze. He knows the man isn’t angry at him. He can’t and couldn’t; he knows Jooheon feels, for some damned, unknown reason responsible for all of Changkyun’s turmoil and despair, for everything that has happened to him for the past couple of years and to this day, Changkyun still doesn’t fucking get why. 

When he opens his mouth this time, his voice is gentle and words calmer. “We’re both doing the same thing, Heonie. And even without all the drama between Hoseok and I-- I don’t really care who he’s fucking, y’know. It’s just sex. Doesn’t have to mean shit.”

It never means shit when Hoseok fucks him, Changkyun has come to realise. 

He offers a sheepish smile as reassurance, but the one Jooheon gives back doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s concern and sadness behind the lines of his face, and to see his best-friend worrying himself sick because of him breaks tiny bits of Changkyun’s heart.

Later, when the night is pitch black and the sky is starless, they part ways. They don’t speak on the way back home, because it’s cold and Jooheon refuses to push down the huge scarf covering his entire face, but mostly because there isn’t anything else to add.

Jooheon makes him promise one thousand things, barks one thousand more shitty threats, and as always, Changkyun smiles and laughs through it all. 

_Yeah, I’m blocking his number. Yeah, promise, I’ll stop answering his calls. Yeah, I’m getting my shit together. Yeah, I’ll come to class tomorrow. Promise. Promise. Promise._

“I’m fucking serious. I’m going to kick his ass next time I see him,” Jooheon grumbles, fumbling with the infinite bunch of stuff he keeps inside his pockets. 

When he’s finally found his keys, dimples make their way on his face and he offers the smiles he keeps for his best friend and him only.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? And I love you, asshole. I know you don’t like it, but I’m not gonna sit back and watch you slowly fade away.” 

Before he turns around, Jooheon hugs him so tight Changkyun feels like he’s putting every broken piece of him back together and that things are going to be okay for a short moment. 

When he turns around and disappears behind the door, Changkyun falls apart once again.

 

(...)

He lives alone. He lives alone, in the eighth floor of the oldest building of the neighbourhood, a piece of shit apartment block for a piece of shit flat. Changkyun can’t afford much else. Education is what drills holes in his wallet, and his part-time job is barely enough to keep the landlady happy. At times, he wonders if he’d die in there too-- if his neighbours would kill him first or if he’d jump right out of the window before. 

Right now, though, he wonders why he doesn’t even feel remotely angry when he finds out Hoseok has trespassed inside and made himself at home without his consent.

The blonde looks up from the book he’s reading. His limbs are spread all over Changkyun’s sofa, one feet hanging over the edge while the other rested on the arm-set. “Whatcha doing here, love?”

He doesn’t have much fight in him left. The room suddenly feels cold, even with a shirt, sweater and jacket. Changkyun laughs: doesn’t even have enough in him to tell him that he fucking _lives_ here. 

“Fuck you, hyung.”

He rubs tiredly against one he of his eyes, and passes by the other without much of a glance.

Hoseok shouldn’t be here, because Hoseok doesn’t have any set of extra keys given to him. Changkyun’s too tired to think about how he managed anyhow. Has stopped caring about Hoseok’s moody and unpredictable behaviour, his one thousand way of playing mind games.

If he tries hard enough, Changkyun knows he can also dull the ache in his chest.

Lips pursed, Changkyun makes his way to the kitchen. 

Wooden doors open and close back, cabinets sliding wide seconds before they’re shut. Empty. He tries the fridge, and the few things still rotting inside make his stomach churn. Changkyun kicks the door closed, again. Takes a few steps back. 

He’s still fully clothed, scarf hanging loose around his shoulders, jacket hugging his chest tight, laces of his boots wrapped around his leg firmly. It’s overwhelming— suffocating. 

His kitchen is empty. Forgot to buy food, or perhaps didn’t care enough to do so. Either way, it’s empty, and his lungs suddenly feel heavy inside his chest.

Changkyun curses, presses the back of his sleeve against his eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. It’s the few beers, Changkyun tells himself. Alcohol, lack of sleep, body exhaustion, hunger. It’s Hoseok’s presence under his roof. It’s all but his own despair coiled right beside his heart.

It takes him a while to gather himself back. Through it all, strangely, Hoseok has remained silent, none of his usual mocking; hasn’t moved to know what took him so long, none of his usual interest in other people’s misery. Changkyun knows it’s because the guy doesn’t really care, more invested in fictional characters than the broken hearts around him. Good. It sure is better this way— otherwise, Changkyun doesn’t know how badly he’d react to Shin fucking Hoseok’s very own brand of pity.

_Oh, baby. Crying because you’re too damn out of everything to remember buying food, and now your stomach’s rumbling and there’s nothing for you to eat. Are you drunk too? God, you’re so fucking pathetic. Look at you, so sad and pretty while you cry over boys, hating yourself so much._

Changkyun breathes once, twice, and braces himself to face evil before stepping outside of his kitchenette. 

Hoseok is still there, lying so comfortably on his sofa, focused on whatever he was reading. Some old French poetry, if the title gives it away correctly. Changkyun didn’t even know the guy took interest in this kind of things, but then again, Changkyun doesn’t know much about him.

They fuck, they find fun and quick comfort in each other’s presence, that’s all they do. The rest doesn’t matter. 

When Hoseok lifts his nose up to look at him, Changkyun’s eyes cut instinctively to the side, avoiding contact. Doesn’t want to look at him, doesn’t want to spike up unneeded interest. There’s a sour taste in the back of his mouth, on his tongue, tainting his gums. Maybe from all the beers he’s had, maybe from the anger and resentment at the sight of the pretty blonde and his pretty lips smirking up at him. Whichever it is, Changkyun doesn’t linger around longer to know. Dashes away in quick steps, shoulders hunched over and jaw tight.

“Babe, I’m hungry,” Hoseok whines, all sweet syllables and singing tone hiding the sharp edges of his voice. “Cook me something, pretty please?”

That’s where the problem lies, Changkyun thinks as he stops on his tracks. Hoseok knows him, Hoseok knows him too much and presses at his buttons, on his bruises when they lay bare and naked, and Changkyun lets him. He lets him because he’s convinced himself there’s nothing he can do, there’s nothing to be done. 

Hoseok isn’t abusive, shit, he isn’t and he’d never, but there’s no angel in him, or perhaps it died long ago. Nice and polite, a gentleman always, eomma’s dearest boy, everything you’d want packed delicately in a single person. A more than decent human being, he is, but there are the filthy secrets underneath his perfect skin, the sick lies and the poison smiles when he’s got himself wrapped around your heart. 

They met a long while ago, friends of friends, common social nest forcing them to interact at some point. And Hoseok had been so fucking kind, so fucking sweet, although Changkyun was an angsty little prick, unstable wreck of a semi-adult with black liner and black clothes needing an outlet from the emotions storming through his veins. 

Hoseok was there when no one was, and tonight, Hoseok is still here, and that is perhaps when Changkyun finally learns he can’t outrun karma forever.

“Yeah,” Changkyun breathes, closing his eyes. Laughs a little, tight sounds out of still constricted lungs. “I would, but the fridge’s empty, hyung. Y’know it already.”

Of course he knows. Hoseok always knows things before Changkyun does. 

When he opens his eyes, he feels a warm breath against his nape, doesn’t have to turn around to know Hoseok has moved, stands perfectly still behind. Waiting, testing, judging. Changkyun doesn’t dwell on it too much when he almost naturally reaches back for Hoseok’s hand, lacing their fingers together easily. He leads the blonde through the narrow corridor of his tiny flat, until they reach his bedroom, and Hoseok laughs quietly to himself, not questioning, not using his usual jabs and mean words. Changkyun is thankful enough for that.

“No food, then?”

Hoseok gives a quick squeeze to his hand. It all feels strangely domestic, and Changkyun shrugs one shoulder to answer. Sheds his clothes, one by one, as Hoseok stands there, leaning against the doorframe. No food, but he’ll have more than that, surely. Changkyun’s pretty sure the guy didn’t come here just to get cheap, college student instant meals cooked for him. He’s used to bigger things, tastier dishes. 

Changkyun feels Hoseok’s eyes run all over his body as he undresses before slipping back into more comfortable attire. 

His bedroom isn’t much of a bedroom, containing nothing more than the necessary mattress on the floor, his older brother’s used table and chair, few books piling in the corner. Plants here and there, a wardrobe full of Hoseok’s clothes from all the times he’s either slept over or the ones Changkyun’s stolen from his own wardrobe, a dying lamp casting yellowish-brown light. Four walls he’s locked himself inside time and time again, for no other reason than his own need of abstraction from the world.

He keeps his back turned to Hoseok as he searches his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. He tucks the thing between his lips in utter silence, only then does he face the blonde.

“Staying over?” 

It’s a rhetorical, dumb thing to ask. Hoseok was here before him, and Hoseok will remain under his sheets when the sun rises and he has to go to class.

Still, Hoseok humours him, nods with a sly little smile stretching his lips. His tongue darts out to wet his lips a little, and Changkyun feels himself stiffen, insides clenching and unclenching almost painfully. 

Changkyun counts to three as he lights up his cigarette.

One, two. Hoseok’s already crowding his space, invading him, eyes burning up. Three. Changkyun stops breathing seconds before the blonde’s lips push against his own and he feels himself melt instantly.

They shouldn’t do this. They shouldn’t, but Changkyun has long stopped worrying about his bad decisions. He doesn’t care enough to be hesitating either, so he kisses Hoseok back, kisses him hard and demanding and forgets about every other thing.

They shouldn’t do this, and of fucking course Changkyun is going to regret it, but it the end, it doesn’t matter. It stops mattering every time his eyes catch Hoseok’s in the dim light of his bedroom, every time Hoseok shows up at two in the morning and says his nights don’t feel right when Changkyun isn’t by his sides. It’s a vicious circle, addiction, dependence and every bad thing your therapist would talk about, yet Hoseok’s hands feel like home and his body pressed against his own is all Changkyun needs.

“Hyung,” he whispers, a little thing between a groan and a moan, arching his back to meet Hoseok’s hips.

Hoseok’s reply is immediate, tongue flicking up and curling against his, greedier, heavier.

Changkyun guesses there is a certain balance in the world, that things will get worse and worse until they eventually feel better because the universe likes equilibrium and harmony– because the it can hurt only hurt so much before pain turns into something else. Some theory his dad once told him about. And if, for once, his dad were to be wrong– there isn’t much left of his heart for Hoseok to break more of anyway.

“I missed you,” Hoseok purrs against his neck, where he leaves pepper kisses, and Changkyun almost believes him, wants to believe him (is too weak not to believe him).

His cigarette is burning between his fingers, so he brings it to his lips for one last drag, while his other hand is pulling at Hoseok’s hair to get his attention. There used to be a time when he saw stars in Hoseok’s eyes and found every answer he ever looked for in the depth of his irises. He still does, but they’re faded, worn out, dying and distant and it tugs at the seams of his heart more than he expected.

Hoseok’s gaze sharpens. “Don’t,” he whispers, hand gripping his hip a little tighter.

“Don’t, what?” Changkyun’s voice is low, shaky around the edges as he blows out smoke from his nostrils.

He hates smoking. Hates the smell, hates the feel, hates the burn of his throat, but Hoseok’s a smoker and somewhere along the way-- Changkyun’s picked up the habit as well as every other little thing.

“You’re overthinking again, thinking about useless stuff.”

Hoseok takes the cig away from his lips, but doesn’t move, doesn’t take steps back to let room for breathing between them. He is keeping the other’s body pressed against the wall with his own. Changkyun feels caged, naked under Hoseok’s eyes, both familiar feelings he can’t help loving, making up for hours long of therapy sessions he probably badly needs.

“Am I?” He watches Hoseok crush the cig, putting it away in the ashtray and laughs, humourless, just the vibrations of vocal cords. 

He is. Hoseok is right. He’s doing it again. Blaming everything but himself, blaming Hoseok’s empty love rather his own issues. Hoseok is always right. It’s infuriating, sometimes, so Changkyun smiles a smile he doesn’t quite feel.

“You’re full of shit, hyung.” 

Then he’s kissing him again, kissing him to shut him up, kissing him because that’s the only thing which seemingly ceases the ache of his heart.

Hoseok gives in to the kiss– a clash of teeth and tongues, a battle which cause has been forgotten. They fight, like they always do from the pushing of their bodies to hands gripping clothes and hair tightly. Hoseok’s hand travels up under his shirt, tracing lines of muscles and the sharp edges of hipbones. Fingertips brushing at his ribs, barely paying mind to his nipple, going higher until he’s reached the collarbones, the neck, fingers wrapping around gently. 

“Chan,” he says, voice dropping low, melted gold pouring fire into Changkyun’s veins. “Changkyun, baby.”

Changkyun’s breath catches in his throat, along with the lump slowly forming. He doesn’t want it, he will regret this, he wants it so fucking bad. There is no rational thought left in his brain, and all has been wiped out in favour of all all he’s craving for. Hoseok’s touches, Hoseok’s whispering sweet nothings in his ears, Hoseok’s pressing him against a wall and kissing him hard enough to bruise, Hoseok ravishing him, Hoseok–

“Fuck me,” he barely manages to choke out, arms tight around the blonde’s neck.

–to hold him just one more time.

(...) 

It would be so much easier if Changkyun could hate Hoseok. It would be so, _so_ much easier for the both of them if Hoseok treated him the way he sometimes acted, rough and distant. If he weren’t so damn gentle, so caring, if he didn’t handle and touch Changkyun like his bones were made of crystal, his skin porcelain. 

Hoseok lays him down on the mattress, his body soon following, falling easily on top of him. Fitting just right.

Pressing soft kisses to the side of his throat, right above his pulse, then trailing up his jaw, Hoseok whispers to his ear. “How d’you want it, babe?” 

Changkyun’s bottom lip quivers. It would be so much fucking easier if Hoseok acted vile, treated him like a mindless body. Took from him, never gave back.

He doesn’t. He never does.

There’s a moment of silence, Changkyun blinking at Hoseok, lashes batting and battling to keep the tears at bay. He tries hard to swallow his heart back down, lodged in the back of his throat and trying to jump out every time Hoseok leaves wet kisses against his cheek, every time he pushes some strands of hair out of his vision.

They don’t do things this way, they don’t. Usually, it’s messier, hungrier, and they do it quick so they don’t have to think about what they’re doing. At times Changkyun’s high, others, Hoseok’s drunk, and they both take what they need from each other shakily, wordlessly. 

Right now though, Hoseok’s eyes are warm, lustful in a mellow rather than harsh way. Changkyun’s breathing falters over and over again, and he has trouble stopping the bobbling of his Adam apple. 

“I wanna see you,” he mutters, thumb pushing against Hoseok’s lips. “All of you.” 

Hoseok’s smile makes his blood run faster, brings hot crimson to his cheeks. There are no specifics there, only the pool of heat gathering in his lower abdomen, Hoseok’s touches causing electricity prickling along his skin. 

Changkyun’s half drunk, body over mind, rationality silenced and tucked away. He wants to be selfish, just for a while, just for this time.

The blonde chuckles, plants a kiss right above his left eyebrow. Used to be pierced there, but Changkyun got past the angry, closed-off teenage stage. Hoseok’s lips linger there though.

“You will.” 

He doesn’t let him time to breathe. Hoseok kisses him hard, demanding, until he sees stars behind his eyelids and his lungs demand oxygen. Changkyun stops thinking about the past, about all the things Hoseok and he could’ve been, instead focuses on the man himself. He locks his legs around his waist as the blonde straightens up a little, yanking his own shirt away. Hoseok is straddling him, half-naked, all hard muscles and soft flesh. Shiny jewels in each nipple, the only thing they had in common. He got rid of those, too.

Changkyun remains lying there, fully clothed still, eyes locked on the graceful figure of the man above him. 

He could’ve had him like that earlier, force him to turn around and push his face against the wall, and Changkyun would’ve been okay with that too, but Hoseok didn’t, he wouldn’t. Changkyun wants reasons, he wants ugly memories, copper tainting his mouth, anything to back up everyone’s claim of Hoseok being a piece of shit, an abusive asshole, to give Jooheon’s anger credit, truth.

Hoseok’s eyes glint, gold. He helps him out of his tee, throws it in the far corner of the room. His head dips low to catch the soft flesh of his throat between his teeth. Hand roaming lower, reaching his crotch. Changkyun’s hips buck on their own as he bites down some more whimpering. His gaze flickers up, catching Hoseok’s heavy, dark one, and the blonde smirks knowingly at him. 

Changkyun tugs at the buttons of his jeans, huffing a frustrated sigh. “Hyung,” he urges, voice strained with his own impatience, laced with hunger. “Fucking take this off—"

Hoseok’s laugh is sincere, tender, a gentle thing, blooming like cherry blossoms in spring. Changkyun stops, breathes out shakily.

Fuck.

As far as the world knows, a piece of shit, that’s all Hoseok is, that’s how they perceive him, that’s the story they find in Changkyun’s tears in the middle of class, the bruises along his ribs. They don’t believe him when he says it’s not Hoseok—how could it _ever_ be—rather the monsters inside him, those feelings he can’t quite shake off. They don’t believe him when he says Hoseok’s there when they grow louder, stronger, that’s he isn’t the nicest, kindest humain being, nor is he perfect but the closest fucking thing to perfection to ever be.

“I’m sorry.” 

Hoseok pauses, hands stilling where they are. Changkyun’s heart is rattling painfully, caught in its cage of bones. His breathing falters a little, and Hoseok waits, silent, understanding. Open. 

_they don’t believe him, they don’t_

The half-dead lamp casts golden shadows, soothes out the sharpness of Hoseok’s eyes, his body. The sight of him there grips at Changkyun’s heart, ache squeezing the poor thing, a strange feeling he can’t quite name clawing at his throat. There is so much he wants to say. 

_so, so much_

His voice his hoarse, doesn’t sound like his own. Changkyun forces it out of his diaphragm, forces air out of his lungs. “Hyung, I—” 

Hoseok fingers press against his lips. He laughs a breathy chuckle, speaking barely above a whisper. “Don’t.”

Just like that, plain and simple. Whatever it is, Changkyun doesn’t. Stops himself. Opens his mouth, welcomes Hoseok’s fingers past his lips. Grateful, breathing a little better.

“You wanted to see me,” the blonde murmurs, leaning close, his weight a familiar and comfortable presence above him. “You just do that, yeah? Look at me. Just look at me, love.”

Hoseok always knows things before he does.

 

(…)

Changkyun wakes up in the dead of the night with another’s body wrapped around his. 

He’s cold, but his heart feels colder. He shuffles around a bit, turns so he’s facing Hoseok’s passed out figure. 

Changkyun lied, when he said there was no angel in him— Hoseok morphs into one, when he falls asleep. Does it count as one of those Greek tragedies, would Aeschylus had written about them millennia back? It almost makes him laugh out loud, how fucking stupid it sounds. 

They’re no star-crossed lovers, no blood-bound soulmates. 

Changkyun looks at Hoseok and how fucking beautiful he is laying there naked with an arm around his waist. He looks at him and realizes for the hundredth time, he loves him, he does, and perhaps Hoseok loves him back just a tiny fucking bit, but they’re both too damaged to do anything about it. So they fuck, they fuck again, and they stop seeing each other for a while and Changkyun decides they’re done but Hoseok comes crawling back so Changkyun begs him to stay a little more, just a little longer.

It’s stupid, it’s so, so stupid and ridiculous Changkyun does laugh to himself this time. Quiet at first, snorting swiftly, trying not to wake up Hoseok. 

He laughs until it turns to sobs and he sobs until he hears birds chirping outside.

_I’m sorry I let us drift apart so much, I’m sorry I let my demons ruin us. I’m sorry they paint you as the monster when you do your best taming mine, I’m sorry Jooheon hates you so damn much_

He hopes, from the bottom of his mistreated, misshaped and bruised heart, he hopes they mean something, anything, the both of them, he hopes Hoseok feels something, _anything_ when he holds him close to his chest and runs his hands along his back.

Whatever it is, whatever it becomes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> life comes at u fast and forces u to write some more dumb shit :/

“You did it again.”

Hoseok ignores him. Slouches down a little more in the stinky, creaky couch. There’s a smell, horrid and sour, but with everything going around, there’s no really sure way to know where it comes from. Maybe he hung around meth-heads too long and caught their sweet fragrance—maybe it’s Hyungwon who sits unbothered beside him, rolling a fresh joint and reeking of one thousand awful things. 

He’s looking mad, Hyungwon, oh, he _is_. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” 

Hoseok barely reacts, if not chuckles to himself. A little bit of venom in the guy’s words, nothing he isn’t used to. The party is a fucking boring mess. Downtown Seoul and just enough marginalized and colorful pieces of shit to get by for the night, angry mosh pits in a living room too narrow for its own good and certainly not made for this—lousy and bad music. People are boring. Drugs are shit. Why would one sit and talk and spend time with fucking Chae Hyungwon willingly otherwise, Hoseok doesn’t know. 

Lesser of two evils, something like that.

“Need my dick sucked.” Hoseok grumbles, trashing a bit around until he’s closer to the tall, lanky motherfucker nicely dressed in an oversized button-up shirt and tight, so very tight jeans. He grins. “Follow me to the bathroom?”

Hyungwon’s eyes, they’d shoot bullets if they could. Hoseok knows one thing or two about _those_ Hyungwon looks, and it’ll never stop amusing him, hell, arousing him. The few shots of tequila he’s had left him with a nice, hazy buzz, skin hot and tingling. More relaxed than usual but focused enough to feel the tension in the few inches separating them, the air pregnant with a dark, lustful pressure—perverted resentment.

“Thought you rather fancied teenagers.”

Hoseok’s left brow twitches, but he keeps his grin up nonetheless. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

They talk. They all talk, like they’re the biggest fucking gossip in town. Changkyun’s legal everywhere, in every way. What, haven’t ever fucked people older than you? Changkyun’s no kid. They’ve been out for years, and even when they’d started dating—if _dating_ were how one qualified the intricate mess they both are stuck in and can’t get out of—Changkyun was old enough. Hyungwon’s doing it on purpose, Hoseok gets it. Baiting him. Provocations, poking around usual wounds. As if he were saying, I know you and I know what you’re doing so I’ll shit on you every chance I get. Hoseok guess it’s just another ex-soulmate thing.

A girl passes there, carrying drinks. She’s two steps away from blacking out, more alcohol than blood in her frail body. Hoseok does his thing, fluttery eyelids and warm smiles and lusty looks. There she comes. 

He accepts the drink, “thanks, babe,” and there she goes, disappearing in the heaving crowd. Sweaty bodies and loud music. Hoseok sips to that, but Hyungwon’s quick to snatch the cup from him. 

“The _fuck_ you think you’re doing.” 

Hyungwon doesn’t even look at him. Scoffs. Downs the drink, Hoseok’s hard-earned, worked-for drink. Just like that. Cup full of whiskey gone and Hyungwon barely blinks at him, like the rude, hollow freak he is. Hoseok wants to be mad but there’s laughter bubbling in the back of his throat, and well—things never change. They grow up, part ways, but Hyungwon’s still a piece of shit alcoholic with one too many emotional issues and Hoseok remains the emotionless, manipulative ex-drug addict. A strange fucking match, they are, but there lie their charms, doesn’t it? Hoseok laughs. Yeah, sounds just about ridiculous.

Hyungwon doesn’t need to ask. He doesn’t care either, but Hoseok speaks up anyway. “We cuddled. And he cried.” Then he adds as an afterthought, frowning a little. “I think? Slept through it.”

Hyungwon rolls his black-rimmed eyes. “You mean you fucked a kid _emotionally_ once again. Good job, asshole.”

Here’s the thing, though. They can talk, they can all talk about whatever’s going on between him and Changkyun, make up their own little fantasy and jerk off about their relationship all they wish, so long as they don’t bring it up to Hoseok’s face. He’s got little to no patience when it comes down to pretentious little fucks prodding his business but Hyungwon is Hyungwon— the biggest pretentious fucker in town and Hoseok has yet to find a way to handle things between them without the use of his fists. 

Figures it most certainly is how you get to know Chae Hyungwon’s filthy faces. And well, violence makes violence— they’ve known long enough.

“You’re right,” Hoseok scoffs at last, one shoulder bouncing as he shrugs. 

He isn’t, really. Hoseok didn’t do anything they both didn’t sign up for. Changkyun called, few days ago. He never answers Changkyun’s calls, because they’re pointless. Instead, he showed up only a little too late, his clothes smelling of another. They fucked, he cried. Sounds like problems which do not concern him, but he’s used to being the monster in every book. Hyungwon looks at him sideways, waiting for him to react, hiss vicious words and feel his knuckles against his jaw but Hoseok won’t humor him, not tonight. He looks right back evil in the eyes, until the guy unfolds under his gaze and drops the mask.

Hyungwon bares his teeth.

He’s the prince of a fallen kingdom, ruling violence over long-dead subjects. Royal without losing his filth, ugly behind the delicate, pretty features of his flesh mask. Dirt under his polished smiles and blood under fingernails, the kind of smart boy who grew up knowing exactly how smart he was but ended up losing himself in the depth of his mind anyhow. Hoseok hates literature and poetic portraits, but Chae Hyungwon’s always been a vile muse of his own kind, and here they are—there they will remain.

“Funny, isn’t it?”

Hyungwon’s looking at him, or past him, whichever. Faded gaze hidden under the cotton candy pink of his bangs, smiling a crude smile. 

“How things go. Used to fuck you right into the carpet, all those years back. Now look at you. Playing god with little boys.” 

Hoseok closes his eyes. The party fades into the background, and so does Hyungwon’s form, the noise. There’s a distant, painful itch urging him to rouse and hit, though he soon realizes it’s purely mechanic, instinctive reflex: primitive, comparable to breathing or blinking. Rage like an old friend he hasn’t talked to in years but knows will forever be there—boiling under his skin, pumping in his blood. Hoseok isn’t the boy Hyungwon used to play with, and anger issues aren’t issues anymore. He turns fire into venom and when he opens his eyes, they’re cold but calculated, a cold smile tainting his lips. He gets up, turning to face Hyungwon who barely deigns looking at him. 

Hoseok makes him. 

He cups his hands around his face, and leans in, sealing their lips. Not much of a kiss, rather Hoseok’s tongue fucking Hyungwon’s, forcing its way and diving in without asking permission. The guy doesn’t fight him back, mouth accepting the intrusion, accommodating. Always _so_ accommodating.

At last, Hoseok draws back, just enough space between them to breathe. “Nobody fucks me into the carpet anymore.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. 

 

 

It’s seconds away from dawn when Hoseok hears the door of his room crack open. He was not asleep, not entirely, drifting in and out of sleep for the past two hours. When Hyungwon stumbles his way to the bed and knocks a few things on the way while laughing audibly, Hoseok feels wide awake. 

It’s not uncommon. Hyungwon’s always had a set of keys of his own, and Hoseok has never found any reason solid enough to take them back from him. They’ve bought it together, the apartment, back when it was the two of them versus the entire world, with Hyungwon’s dad’s dirty money. Then, the furniture paid with all the cash they made selling his mother’s jewels, how they laughed and laughed and laughed when Hyungwon’s parents had known. If Hoseok tries hard enough, he can still hear the echo of their wild fits of laughter. But he’s sure if he were to take a closer look at the walls, they’d be cracks and cavities where curses alongside broken promises hid. They shared a lot in here, and they shared some more, until one day Hoseok woke up alone and cold in a bed and Hyungwon never set another foot in the flat ever again.

“Seok-ah,” he hears, syllables carried in unstable notes as Hyungwon pats the sheets until he finds him. When he does, he climbs on the bed with the all the dexterity he can manage with dope flowing through his veins.

Hair rises on his skin hearing that voice calling him like this, electricity coursing through his veins in seconds. Always the same reaction, no matter how many years go by.

Hoseok opens his eyes as he feels a familiar weight settle atop of him, straddling his hips over the duvet. Hyungwon smells of alcohol and sex and filthy things. His clothes are stained oddly, his top wrinkled and not so white anymore. Shadow and liner smudged, lips glossy and shining every time he moves and catches moonlight. 

Hyungwon’s hands press down on his chest, mouth falling open. “You still need your dick sucked?” 

“Shit.” Hoseok’s heart jumps to his heart, zero to one hundred so quickly it almost feels like a heart-attack, per usual with his own drugged out fallen prince. He wets his lips, all tiredness suddenly gone from his body. “You tell me,” he whispers to the night, and it makes the guy on top of him laugh. 

“I think you do.” 

Just like that, Hyungwon is diving in to kiss him, not caring what Hoseok has to say about that. Open-mouthed and vile, hungrily chasing his tongue and pushing against his body seeking badly needed friction and heat until Hoseok has to straighten up against the cushions, sitting as Hyungwon fills his lap. 

Then its morphs into the usual game, everything natural, old habits, bodies used to one another finally finding the missing parts, all clicking together so fucking easily. Sloppy kisses and Hyungwon’s strawberry breath, his tongue leaving wet spots all over Hoseok’s skin; the other’s feverish and sensitive, each touch drawing shaky breaths out of him. Hoseok bites his neck right where blood flows the most and Hyungwon archs his body all the way, hips bucking to meet his in frantic need. Need, need, need, to be touched and taken and used and fucked. Hoseok groans, hands all over the body he knows too well, tracing the hard edges of bones sticking out and skin abused one too many times, Hyungwon always so responsive to the touches, eager for whatever way he could get it so long as they handled him the way he liked. 

“They fucked you alright, didn’t they?” Hoseok whispers against his ear, voice still husky from sleep and thick with lust, tongue running around his lobe and playing with the few piercings there. “And now you come to me because they could never fuck you like I do.”

Hyungwon makes a strangled noise, pressing up to him as he rushes to undress. Baring the milky skin turned violet in places, the body so slim it should be alarming and pushes against Hoseok, flushed up, hot and needy. God, those words, those dark, intense eyes—Hyungwon feels like he might implode anytime from growing desire and desperate arousal. Hoseok tastes fruity cocktails when he kisses him back before Hyungwon leans back, golden lust in his blown-out pupils. High but seeking higher, a place where he wouldn’t have to think anymore. 

A pause, a few heartbeats. They lock gaze and pant, chests heaving—where from there. They know, they’re used to it, but in that moment, Hoseok knows he could’ve been asked anything and he would’ve accepted with no further interrogation. For that face, that fucking body, those flicker of gold shimmering in the dead of the night when it’s just the two of them inside their bubble and nothing can break that moment. Hoseok’s heart races in his ribcage, thudding loudly in his ears. Then, a burst of laughter.

“Merry fucking Christmas,’ Hyungwon says, words slurred, not really making any sense though he’s grinning ear to ear, stealing a shaky laugh from Hoseok too.

He’d give him Christmas in April, he would. 

Hyungwon’s beautiful there, in his lap, clothes and masks shed, just him in his most genuine form. Hoseok misses the boys they used to be but is too used to the men they’ve become to really care. He wishes he were high and fucked-to just to see whatever Hyungwon’s seeing, to feel whatever he’s feeling, wondering if the guy has some spare pills to give, but all thoughts vanishes when he suddenly feels Hyungwon finally taking him in his mouth. All stops mattering except for the heat, the mouth around him as Hyungwon sucks and licks and takes him all in, like he means it, truly means it. 

“Fuck, I’m…” 

Hoseok’s voice trails off instantly as he feels the tongue curl yet again around his length, skilled fingers working both at the base and around his balls simultaneity. They can fight and they can yell at one another and lose touch for months, years, but it wouldn’t matter once they shed their clothes. Hyungwon shudders and whimpers when Hoseok grips his hair and moves his hips faster, harder, the heat boiling in his abdomen sending wave after wave of liquid fire through his entire body.

Hyungwon’s hands stroke his flanks, then grip his thighs for support hard enough to bruise as he does his best to coordinate brain and mouth, though he’s grown a master of sucking cock when he’s drunk enough not to remember a thing in the morning. Hoseok would argue that Hyungwon fucks the best when he loses all inhibitions after some lines of coke, but right now though, he doesn’t wanna think about much expect getting blown. 

“You’re so good to me,” he purrs, tugging at his hair until his cock slips out of his lips with a wet sound so he can lean in to kiss him, forcing his tongue inside, the tiny cries of Hyungwon going straight to his groin. “So, so good.”

Hyungwon’s body is shaking, lips red and wet and spit down his chin but he grins, the side of his face illuminated by the moon’s rays. Breathing ragged, heavy lidded, but grinning nonetheless. “Always.” 

Then he has his mouth full once again but finds out he doesn’t mind much. Hyungwon focuses on his task and knows he’s damn good when he looks up to Hoseok and sees him wrecked and close, a thin sheen of sweat glistening all over his body and chest heaving, the man breathless. Hyungwon’s own cock hard and leaking, fire in his belly and losing himself to his own lust. He loves it, loves the sight and the feeling of the throbbing heat on his tongue, scraping the back of his throat repeatedly. He knows Hoseok’s about to come way before it happens, feels it in the way his body shakes and his hips buck as he fucks his mouth quicker, messier, fisting his hair and pushing him all the way down. 

Hyungwon complies, accepts, fuck, likes it way too much, whimpering softly around that cock, the vibrations sending Hoseok almost straight to the edge. The pool of heat coiling in the base of his spine unbearable by now, and he’s so close it’s painful, shuddering and breathing harshly through his nose. He comes when Hyungwon pulls back a little in a slick sound only to swirl his tongue around the head of his cock, finger digging into the slit seconds before he swallows him back whole, so deep Hoseok’s eyes roll back to his skull and he loses it all.

“Shit, shit, Hyungwon—fuck!”

Hyungwon closes his eyes and loosens the muscles of his throat, swallowing easily and licking the cock dry to the sounds of muffled groans. Hoseok’s orgasm is powerful enough to put him back to sleep, and he would’ve dozed off if Hyungwon didn’t crawl on top of him, a hand gripping him again, jerking him off harshly before he lines up his cock with his hole. Already fucked enough not to need prep, probably still slick with lube, but needing to be filled once again, unsatisfiable greed and lust twisting his guts. Hoseok groans, not so young and horny anymore to be able to get it up as quickly as he once did, but Hyungwon’s ruthless and jerks him hard until his cock starts fattening nicely again.

“You’re unbelievable,” he whispers, cracking one eye open to look at Hyungwon’s lavished figure, the wicked glint in the depth of his eyes. 

Hyungwon breathes out deeply. “Shut up, now. Fun’s mine now.” 

 

 

The following morning, when Hoseok wakes up, there’s no one by his side. Something caves in inside, a distant ache in his chest at the realization of loneliness, but it soon fades when he hears water running in the bathroom. 

He smiles, and closes his eyes again.

( - - - )

“Hyung?”

Hoseok looks up. There, standing in the rain, Changkyun. Half a cigarette hanging from his lips, cloths dripping wet, on his way to class. Or perhaps that is just another lie he’s grown accustomed to. Hoseok locks his phone, lets it fall in the pocket of his leather jacket, and wonders whether to keep distance and barriers between them up or not. He ends up smiling anyway, breaking usual antisocial habits. 

“Hey, babe. What’re you doing ‘round here?”

Changkyun doesn’t move, which Hoseok finds amusing. “Going to class,” he mutters under his breath, looking away. Hoseok catches glimpses of reddened skin under his jawline, and laughs quietly to himself.

At the very least, neither of them is losing time. Cheating sounds so ridiculous—Hoseok doesn’t get why Jooheon makes such a fuss of a very malleable concept, but not that he cares much, anyway. It always went this way ever since they started: they’re not exclusive, and Hoseok can’t ever think of them this way. Doesn’t even bother him to know Changkyun marked and touched by someone else: sex is just sex.

He extends a hand, but doesn’t speak. Changkyun eyes him like a deer looks at the hunter before a bullet finds its way through flesh and bone. Strangely enough, he takes a step forward. 

Soon, he stands under the bus stop too, sheltered from the pouring rain, looking at Hoseok with conflicted emotions flickering one after the other his eyes. Hoseok sees the cracks in them, a shimmer of hope in all the animosity and hurt the kid keeps for himself. He doesn’t accept the hand offered to him, keeps his own secured in his pockets. Hoseok feels a pang of irritation, fury creeping up like bile, but buries it all down. Anger management classes do come in handy at times. 

“Hyung, I—"

“Shut up.”

He snaps his mouth shut. Small fucking mercy. Hoseok’s gaze is hard and unnerving, but they both know Changkyun will find comfort in it anyways. Now, there’s a special brand of manipulation he excels in, and if most are either too blind to see it or choose willingly to ignore all the strings he pulls, Hoseok knows just how to move through the lies and petty actions. Changkyun’s a sad piece of shit, but he’s also a master in projecting issues on others and using them as outlets.

He finally moves, stops inches away from the soaked figure standing in front of him. Changkyun refuses to look at him, too proud to admit flaws and too afraid to give away secrets. Hoseok is done caring either way. 

“Let’s go home.”

Words come out almost naturally as his arms wrap around Changkyun’s shoulders, hands locking behind his neck. Just standing there, both silent, until the kid’s eyes go up and meet his. Built up his defenses, even did his make-up with just a hint of black shadow kissing his lids. Hiding so many secrets behind those sorry eyes of his—once Hoseok could decipher it all without much effort, but lately the kid has been slipping away from his grasp and raising great distance between them. In which prospect, who knows, but it has Hoseok slowly losing patience—losing hope. They used to be something, no matter how fucked. Now they’re just another broken record and forgotten tunes.

“We don’t have any _home_ ,” Changkyun’s rasps, reply like a bullet, speaking with a low voice and just enough sarcasm before it gets insulting. 

He can’t say he didn’t try salvage whatever’s left between them. Two can play a game, though. Hoseok’s smile is diamond-like, too bright to be true, but some parts of him mean it, but he chooses to ignore that and so does Changkyun.

“Anywhere is home if it’s us.”

Changkyun’s walls, they chase most away, at times manage to intimidate even those closest to him—solid steel climbing high and but never enough to keep Hoseok at bay. The kid snorts, tiny smile stretching his lips, and Hoseok tries hard telling himself perhaps he too means that one.

 

 

 

It happens like this. 

Changkyun pushes him against a wall in a dirty alley and traps him there, mouth already sucking red bruises along his neck. Hoseok doesn’t remember what they were talking about, what happened after they left that pizza place, or the way they danced on the dancefloor of that night club. But it happened like that and now it’s happening like this, so Hoseok doesn’t really find anything to complain about. 

“Hyung,” Changkyun breathes against his neck, where he chuckles, a deep rumble of his voice. Sends goosebumps all over his skin, that voice—how he’d listen to it all day, all night if he could, do whatever it’d tell him to. If Changkyun let him. “You’re a bad, bad influence.”

They kiss hungrily, in the shadows of a back alley reeking of piss; maybe the club’s, maybe some place deep within Seoul where sad people shed human skin and morph into beings of neon and toxic smoke and nobody can find them. Hoseok is sweating for all kind of reasons, even though the air is crisp and freezing. He’s drunk, he realizes. He’s drunk and Changkyun is drunker and they’ll both regret whatever comes out of this, past repeating itself. Like a bad fucking habit they can’t—don’t want to—get rid of, getting drunk to get by easier, to spend the time they couldn’t (wouldn’t) while sober.

He fists the kid’s jacket and brings him even closer if possible, grinding his body against his own. “Yeah, you a bad boy now baby?”

Changkyun breathes out a chuckle, again. Red smeared all over his cheeks and lips swollen just a tad bit. “No. Just a shit student. Told myself I wouldn’t skip any more classes,” he says, closing his eyes for a very short second, just long enough to breath in and out, slowly. Clouds of white passing between them as he opens his lids, gaze turning heavy but hazy, pupils blown. “But you were there. You’re always there.”

It happens like this, and ends up like that. 

Hoseok forces a smile for the kid’s sake, though he feels his insides churn painfully. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, he thinks. This isn’t how it’s supposed to feel, but here they are. Here they remain, the end of the vicious full-circle, after the fun and games and right before the ugly. Hoseok feels one thousand things, but doesn’t give voice to any of it. Nights like these, he wishes Changkyun could let them be, just for a while. 

Seoul’s quiet but ever so vibrant, alive. Different from daytime when it’s all about business and tight suits and closed-off faces: onec the sun goes down and night wraps the whole world in its black cloak masks fall and every one stops pretending. Alcohol flowing and white lines in club bathrooms—girls wild and feral on dancefloors, love hotels full of horrible secrets. Flashes of light bathe their little narrow, lost alley every time a car passes, illuminating the side of Changkyun’s face and bringing light to all the hidden things within him, behind his lids. Neither speaks and for a moment as silence wraps itself around them like a wet, unfitting cloak. 

_You were there, you’re always there._

Hoseok wonders if Changkyun heard the song so often he learnt its lyrics by heart before starting to whistle its tune unconsciously. If Jooheon and the rest of them, finally got under his lover’s skin after all these years. If they’ve finally won.

Hoseok smiles, just a tiny curve of his lips. “Always am.”

He pushes himself off the wall, giving a quick peck to his lips before slipping away from his reach. He doesn’t belong there, with Changkyun ruining all deliberately, and wishes Seoul could swallow him whole and never spit him back. Kid looks mildly irritated if not concerned, but follows nonetheless as the man slowly walks away. 

It happens like this, yet again. 

As they walk back to the apartment, Hoseok wonders how many more of this he can take before morphing into whatever monster they paint him as. 

 

 

 

“Coming up?”

Changkyun keeps silent at first. He walks careful not to fall on the frozen ground, looking at anything that isn’t Hoseok’s figure, his face. Chin carefully tucked in his jacket, tiny pieces of white in his hair.

“Can’t do,” he sighs, running a head to unruled bangs falling on his forehead. 

He’s still drunk and it shows in the way his balance is kind of off, movements like a machine which has been oiled carefully but with a very different kind of oil than what it’s used to. Or maybe that is just Hoseok’s own dulled thoughts, unable to pick up details while blowing some out of proportions. 

The reply is irritating for a reason he can’t really place his finger on. It just fucking is. “Why?” 

The kid sighs a long sigh, cold breath snaking in the air for a moment before disappearing. He too looks somewhat annoyed and doesn’t seem too keen on explaining himself, looking at Hoseok as if he were saying I don’t owe you anything, and Hoseok gets subconsciously ready for a fight which doesn’t come. He swallows a fit of manic laughter: have they come to this? Changkyun just shrugs.

“Classes and shit,” he murmurs to no one in particular—certainly not looking at Hoseok as he speaks. Just standing there oddly, out of place. 

“You’re drunk and live one hour away. Shut up. I don’t care, just fucking get inside.” 

Hoseok is tired and cold, a decade too old to deal with this sort of stuff so he just gets inside the hall of the apartment block. Wondering if Changkyun would truly refuse yet again to stay for the night or if he’d finally stop being a stubborn fuck and follow him already. There’s a moment of stillness, Changkyun looking like he’s been caught red-handed doing something bad, guilt mixing with hesitation, and Hoseok gives him three more seconds before closing the big metallic gates. They pass rather quickly—Changkyun still hasn’t moved. 

Hoseok laughs, humorless. “Got it.” 

As he starts pushing the gates to close, Changkyun finally moves, quicker than you’d expect from someone like him. Lazy, drunk. Unaffected. He stands inches away from the other’s body, so close Hoseok feels and smells Tequila on his breath. Changkyun manages a sly little grin, leaning in to leave a quick little peck on the elder’s lips, before he turns around and starts walking towards the stairs. Hoseok remains baffled for a moment, the anger boiling in his veins anesthetized with such a simple gesture. He blinks, watching as Changkyun goes up the stairs two by two, leaving him behind though he’s the one who’s got the keys. 

“Asshole,” Hoseok breathes out, shaking his head a little before going too. 

His flat is quiet when they get inside, but lights are on. Hoseok doesn’t really think about it, but Changkyun feels a sudden uneasiness settle in his core, a distant feeling of ache in his chest. He’s used to it—it happened before and certainly, will happen again, each time he steps inside Hoseok’s flat. As if he shouldn’t be here, stars and his Swadisthana alike telling him he needs to get the fuck out of here quick if he doesn’t want Jooheon picking up the crumbling pieces of him again. But Changkyun isn’t one to listen to ominous signs and strongly distrusts any spiritual or astrology-related guidance so he decides he’ll be better off ignoring every single one of his gut feeling. Above all: he’s too drunk to really care. God. Fuck all of this.

“You can take the guest room,” Hoseok says, kicking off his shoes as he tosses keys and jacket somewhere on the couch.

The fucking guest room. Changkyun doesn’t let his face show how much those simples words affect him. “Yeah, cheers.” 

Hoseok looks like he’s about to say something, lips opening the slightest as his gaze goes up and down Changkyun’s lanky figure, but then his eyes cloud, the corning of his mouth twitching down and he simply turns on his heels, heading to the kitchen. Changkyun breathes out a breath he’s been holding for far too long. 

Some things don’t make sense, and this—them, this flat, him standing here—sure as hell is one of them. Changkyun’s head is still sort of spinning, balance off when he doesn’t pay attention, and frankly he really doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Kind of feels like failing completely a test he didn’t study for on purpose, only so much worse because he doesn’t even know what’s expected of him.

“Changkyun,” Hoseok asks from the kitchen, closing the fridge’s door with a kick, “wanna eat something?”

The boy nearly jumps out of his own damn skin. Snapping his head up, he answers a shaky yeah, then hesitantly joins the man behind the counters to offer some help for dinner. Hoseok snorts but doesn’t decline, giving him some tasks to do, which he accepts gratefully just to forget about the bad thoughts. As he busies himself with cleaning up chicken from its fat, Hoseok silently works with slicing vegetables and preparing the rice, humming some old, indie-pop tune Changkyun recognizes from the many times he’s ridden with the man in his car. 

_don’t know where I am, don’t know where I am, ana, ana, anarchist, not like the other kids_

Changkyun dips each piece of chicken in spice and almost blinds himself when he rubs his eyes with still red-tainted fingers, causing Hoseok to holler in the back. The sound brings warmth to his chest though he’s nearly crying, eyes burning—a short-lived moment happiness in its simplest form, just the two of them and Hoseok’s smile and Changkyun’s heart swelling all wrapped in a fragile bubble he knows won’t last long.

Hoseok plants a quick kiss to his temple before turning his back, muttering softly. “Dumbass.” 

They fall into quiet cooking again, until he speaks loudly to ask once again if he’s hungry and wanna eat. The question leaves him confused for a short while—he’s answered that positively already, has he not? His mind can’t be deceiving him quite yet. Though Hoseok is paying no attention to him, gaze fixed on the doorframe, as if he were expecting another, and—oh. 

Oh. 

Hyungwon appears by the door and the air freezes. 

“Fuck yeah,” he answers gruffly, tousling his own cotton-candy colored hair in one quick, harsh motion as he approaches them. He doesn’t even seem to notice Changkyun, eyes dazed, dark bags underneath. “I’m starving.” 

“Gonna be tteokbokki and fried chicken kind of night,” Hoseok declares the most naturally, unbothered, though he does glance warily at Changkyun. “I think we have last night’s ramyeon still left, too.” 

Changkyun forces air out of his lungs. This shouldn’t happen. This isn’t supposed to happen—Chae Hyungwon shouldn’t be here, hovering over Hoseok as he watches him cook, chin nestled on top of his head. 

Some part of his mind, still rational and able to process matters, reminds him that he owns the place, lives there. Worse: him and Hoseok have never truly broken up in the first place, for they’ve never been together. Some in and out thing, having practically grown up together, some fifteen years or so of a violent, toxic love-hate relationship, both bound to each other by youth promises which never truly meant anything except when they’re high on heroin. They got older but the poison remained under their skin, with no way to get rid of it other than clawing at one another, not quite exes, nevertheless friends with benefit or partners—an ugly mix of all three and no way to escape it. Long time ago, Hoseok told him about the boy who overdosed in his arms and clutched his body tight, afraid of dying. The last time he mentioned him, the boy had become a man who haunted his nights and filled his days with troubles. 

Changkyun’s met him a few times already, and always ended up wishing he had not. Tonight’s no exception. 

There’s something incredibly off-putting about Hyungwon. Some gut-wrenching feeling about his whole demeanor—a nasty glint to his eyes and wicked twitch of his full lips, the way he carries his weight around, carelessly depraved, hiding bad news up the long sleeves of his button-up white shirt. Changkyun shifts uncomfortably on his feet and moves around with precise motion that would keep him as further from the other as possible. They pay him no mind, Hyungwon’s long limbs latched around Hoseok and entirely ignoring his existence.

They fall into stiff silence.

“Chan, pass me the stove in that drawer,” Hoseok asks after a while. 

His nerves get the best of him. As he hands the stove to Hoseok, his fingers fail him and the thing fucking falls in loud clatters echoing in the kitchen that startles the three of them. A moment during which none speak, and Hyungwon, at last, turning his head, his dead eyes flicking up to stare at him, ever so impassive. Hoseok offers a little smiles in reassuring and presses his arm gently, whispering it’s okay as he bends down to pick up the stove. 

Changkyun feels like crawling in a hole and dying. 

 

 

Dinner is just what you’d expect when you’re under that one guy’s roof who makes your daily life a living hell and takes a certain pleasure in breaking your heart. (Which is fucking false, because Changkyun is the only one to blame for all the hurt he’s always feeling, but bad poetry and semi-truths, right). Hyungwon decided he’d eat in the bedroom—his bedroom—and flipped the bird to Hoseok and yelled fuck off when the latter told him to mind the fucking crumbles and not eat on the goddamn bed. Now, it’s just the two of them—Changkyun still feels absolutely out of place and uncomfortable. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters to no one but himself, toying with his tteokbokki absently.

He can’t bring himself to look at Hoseok’s face or his eyes, and doesn’t know how to qualify the awful knot in his belly. Anxiety, dread or a strange kind of restless anger, he has no clue, but he knows it is brutal, bad and makes him feel like shit. 

“God.” 

Hoseok barely reacts to the curses, side-eying him as he slurps down some underheated ramyeon—the microwaved needed a few adjustments or whatsoever, he didn’t listen. 

“Say it.” 

Changkyun scowls, but doesn’t lift his head up. “What.” 

“Say it what you have to say, asshole. You’ve been agitated and sullen ever since you got here,” Hoseok snaps, though his voice lacks its usual bite. 

His eyes trail over the man’s features, noticing cracks in his collected, indifferent façade. Eyes hard but frown digging between his brows and lips slightly bared to flash white teeth. Not exactly angry though he’d have every right to be, rather exhausted and, truthfully, sick of his shit. Under stable, though no way in hell Changkyun’d ever admit that.

“Yeah, well, fuck you. I didn’t know—” He grinds his teeth together and swallows the words, trying to calm down, glaring at Hoseok’s cool face. 

You didn’t know what? That he lived with the man who shared most of his life, the person who means more to him than you’ll ever do? That’d be a bold, bold lie, and Changkyun knows it. There’s nothing he can be mad about right now, really, evidently no reason to snap at Hoseok when he’s offering a roof over his head and warm, homemade meals. Changkyun chews his lower lip angrily and keeps silent for now.

“Thanks for the meal. I hate you.” 

Hoseok snorts. “Whatever. Get some damn sleep.”

Changkyun gets up, takes his plates off to the kitchen sink before hurrying up to the guest room without another glance. Hoseok shakes his head, unsurprised by the kid’s pissy behavior. It sits uneasy in the pit of his stomach—the shame and self-loathing he saw on Changkyun’s face when they were cooking and he had to exist in the same narrow space as the soulmate of the man he loves. As he sits there alone and brooding over everything wrong in his life, Hoseok feels abruptly hyperaware of Changkyun and Hyungwon’s respective presence under his roof and the throbbing ache in his chest that comes with the realization that he doesn’t know which man he loves and which man he needs. 

He loves Changkyun. He does. 

When they’re not clawing at each other’s throats, they spend great time together, have a lot in common. Hours pass without either noticing. Changkyun is odd and has a very unique vibe to the way he perceives things—Hoseok met him at the lowest point of his life, gotten familiar with the demons hiding under his bed and the monsters in his head but never to the solid barrier the kid has built between the world and himself. Before, it was easy to ignore, and Changkyun let defenses down more often than now. Lately, he’s been hiding behind a piss poor version of himself and pushes him away the second Hoseok gets too close, too raw, intimate—the kind of closeness which goes beyond sex and doing lines together in dirty club bathrooms. 

The kind which keeps Hyungwon and he helplessly tied to one another no matter how unbearable it becomes.

His food has turned uncomfortably cold. The TV show running still fades into white noise, forgotten. Hoseok closes his eyes. This is shit. It’s so, so shit—but there’s nothing he can do but suffer through it until whatever they have dies on its own because he doesn’t have it in him to kill it himself.


End file.
